


A Knight, A Sword, A Maiden

by fleurs du mal (shinsou)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Weak Attempt At Humour, F/M, Literally No Action, Oathkeeper Is A Marriage Sword, Romance, So little plot, a mix of humour and hurt/comfort and toothrotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7758529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinsou/pseuds/fleurs%20du%20mal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime, Brienne and Pod share a room on a cold evening. Inspired by the tradition described in ASoIaF to place a sword between a man and a maiden to protect her chastity. One hot mess of a fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Knight, A Sword, A Maiden

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 5 hours to indulge my unhealthy obsession. Excuse my poor vocabulary, I really tried. Un-beta-ed

“Two rooms for me and my companions!” Four silver stags clinked on the bar. The small inn was crowded, drunken laughter echoing off its walls. The air was hazy with smoke and heavy with a very noticeable stench of wine gone sour and dark ale. “And two baths also!” Jaime looked around trying to make sure nobody would recognize him. The last thing he wanted was some drunkard wanting to try out his skill with the Kingslayer. The men were ignorantly trying to drown themselves in alcohol cup by cup while groping the passing by serving girls.

“ _THE DORNISHMAN’S WIFE WAS AS FAIR AS THE SUN AND HER KISSES WERE WARMER THAN SPRING_ ” sang one huge man from the top of his lungs and his voice boomed across the hall accompanied by the clanger of tankards. Jaime turned back to the barmaid, a fat mature woman in her late forties with a fleshy red face and small eyes. She gave him a look full of annoyance and came closer to him.

“We don’t have two rooms, only one.”

“Well then, I am sure you can free one more for a _knight_ and his lady. I’ll pay you more, of course.”

“The bed is wide enough for all of you. I cannot kick out my guests, _ser_. How much?” Here lied the problem. If someone knew that the Kingslayer of House Lannister had only a couple more stags in his purse he would probably laugh so hard he would choke and die. The thought was enough to bring up a smile on Jaime’s face that wilted after a second.

“I do not possess much finances right now, but I will pay you back tenfold. I always pay my debts.”

“ _BUT THE DORNISHMAN’S BLADE HAD A SONG OF ITS OWN AND A BITE SHARP AND COLD AS A LEECH_ ”

“There, maimed man, we are talking like a lord right now, eh, what are we, a _lion_?” she spoke loud enough for Jaime to hear her quite clearly despite all the noise and made him look around nervously. He felt Brienne’s gaze on his back. The stupid stubborn wench would pierce a hole through him with her stare if she could. Worse, nag at him the whole evening or _even worse_ sulk and glare daggers. The Kingslayer sighed loudly.

“Well enough. The room better be warm and the water hot.” The barmaid collected the silver from the dark worm-eaten wood and made some signs to one of the serving girls. The plain girl nodded and tore herself from the hands beneath her stays. She quickly made her way to the stairs and led them to the second floor. The air there was cold but crisp and clear, still and silent except for the muffled singing. “ _But what does it matter, for all men must die, and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!_ ” Jaime’s mind chanted involuntarily as he entered the room after the girl, which was feeding the fire. It was still not warm but with the fire burning stronger it might get even pleasant. The room was as plain as the girl that led them to it – a wide bed, just as the barmaid said wide enough for three, a small table with a pewter basin full of water and… and that was it. He scowled at the empty spaces “This isn’t worth even two coppers.” Jaime thought but considering the snow falling outside it was this or the white death. As the crowd on the floor below showed, most people preferred life. “Except for the man that tasted the Dornishman’s wife that is.” The Kingslayer smirked at is witty remark even if he did not vocalise it.

“My dear fellows, welcome to our chambers for this night.” He turned around and spread his arms. The wench was not happy at his terrible attempt for trying to have a sense of humour but seemed grateful for the warmth and the bed. Podrick seemed to be glued to the back of her hip, never leaving her if she did not command him to do so and even then, he tried to oppose her. Nevertheless, to Jaime’s misfortune that was the only time he opposed her. The boy was loyal only to her and almost as stubborn as she is. He even had the courage to ask her in front of Jaime’s eyes if he would like to guard her from _Milord The Hand’s brother_. As if one wench was not enough.

He was well out the door to get some food from the terrible barmaid when the serving girl finished filling the wooden tub with warm water.

“Would milady’s husband want a bath too?” she asked Brienne. Jaime turned around just in time to see the redness creep from her thick neck to her face.

“I’m afraid my lady wife might need to invite my fleas into her bed tonight.” He could swear the wench went Lannister crimson. He grabbed Pod by the shoulder and dragged him out. “We better leave milady wash herself in solitude. She doesn’t like squires looking at the sights she saves for me, boy.” he said while not tearing his eyes off hers, losing himself for a second.

They supped with meat stew and oat bread. Jaime had a second cup of wine after the one he drank while he was down waiting for Brienne to wash. Pod and the wench herself were drinking pale ale. She was stubbornly staring into it as if she was a red priest staring into the flames. He took his chance to study her face. The blurry reflection of the fire was dancing on her right cheek covered with hundreds freckles, little constants among the moving orange and red. Her other cheek was hidden in the darkness but he knew well enough how it looked – a horrible tangle of newly formed red flesh and white scar tissue. It was hollower than her other side and just the thought of this man – if he was indeed human and not some demon - chewing on her face was enough to make his stomach turn. Jaime chugged the rest of his wine and pushed the left of his stew to Pod earning him a thankful but suspicious look from the boy. He got up and after he swept the crumbs from his clothes, he started undoing the laces of his leather tunic.

“What are you doing?” Brienne asked bewildered.

“I am going to bed of course. I know you would like me all for yourself but I am afraid that if I do not leave my fleas out of the bed you will have to share.” He could not see her face from here but he was sure he managed to embarrass her enough so that she will accept the situation and probably murder him in his sleep until she spoke again.

“The bed is wide enough for three, Pod should sleep on it too.”

“As you sa—” Pod started but turned around swiftly enough to see Jaime draw a finger across his neck. “As you say, ser. Milady. But I would like to sleep on the floor by the bed. I would still be close enough to guard you from milord The Hand’s brother if need be.” The Kingslayer felt his jaw clench. “Insolent child” he thought but in the end, victory was his.

“If lady Brienne thinks a bitter old man sworn to celibacy threatens her chastity in any way…” he shuffled around the room and unwrapped Oathkeeper. As he was unsheathing it, the sharp sound of Valyrian steel filled the room and engulfed every other noise. “She is a lady and I am a knight and this is the best sword to guard her.” Jaime gently placed the blade exactly in the middle of the featherbed. “We can only hope that by the end of the night I remain the only maimed one in our party.”

* * *

 The third time Brienne briefly awoke it was almost dawn. The snow outside caught every change in the sky and the thin curtains could not hide it. Tonight sleep did not come easily and when it came, it was light and hazy. She felt very lightheaded – her heart threatened to break her ribs and escape, her mind was screaming despite the veil of sleep that shrouded her. But in a certain way, she felt calm. She felt warm and safe as if all the terrible things that happened were not real, were far away from here and never to come again. The war, the death, the heartbreak.

The only sound in the room was Pod’s soft snoring a few feet away from her. Apparently, Jaime was a deep sleeper – he did not make a sound but she could feel him, his breathing gently moving the featherbed. Brienne continued staring at the ceiling. The gods were testing her once more. A nauseating feeling spread through her chest and her heart stilled as if Jaime was clenching it with his hand. He was as bend and broken as she was, but carrying as many sins as any mortal man could. And still she loved him with his jeers and smirks and the constant ‘wench’. She loved his other side, the one she first saw in the baths at Harrenhall, the one he hides so well even from himself. The Maid of Tarth remembered that day clearly – amid the steam he walked naked, half a god and half a corpse. His wounds had healed, the weight he lost in the dungeons of Riverrun was back on his bones and now this golden god was sleeping in the same bed as her. Now she was the corpse, her ugly face made uglier, marked by that monster’s sharp teeth, the scar of the noose still strangling her neck.

Brienne shuffled around but it was not right. Her left hand felt a strange weight pressed to it, something warm and sticky to the skin on the back of it and between her fingers. The haze of sleep quickly went away and she brought her hand to her face. Even in the dim light, she knew what it was. Blood. “Oh, gods, no, not here not now, the timing is wrong, it’s too early, no, no, no.” The Maid threw back the blankets in horror and squirmed away to the end of the featherbed, placing her trembling feet on the floor as lightly as she could. She could almost hear Jaime’s japes about her moon blood or him boasting to Pod that she gave him her maidenhead. The sheets were crimpled but as white as when she came to bed. Brienne looked down – her shirt was unstained, her smallclothes too.

She heard the man in her bed mumble and looked back at him. Then she understood. He was laying on his side uncovered for she threw back the blankets, trying to grasp them in his sleep with his missing hand. The Maid of Tarth came closer to cover him and noticed the tiny red blotches on his shirt. Jaime was laying on her side of the bed, Oathkeeper tossed and forgotten behind his back. His left hand was sloppily patting the bed where she had laid, smearing blood on the sheets.

“He is searching for my hand…” she whispered to herself in awe while staring unbelievably at her bloodied hand. Brienne wanted to run away and hide and never meet him again, but… she did not want to. Instead, she climbed back on the bed and covered them with the thick blankets. Jaime’s hand found hers and he calmed down, his breathing becoming deep and regular. The beating of her heart irrationally subdued too. She turned her face to his and drank in the image of his face illuminated by the cold light of the dawn. His skin was smooth and unblemished except for the little wrinkles around his eyes. His hair was gold but his beard gold and silver – Brienne often forgot that she is as old as his sins. His face was calm and handsome and _honest_.

Something, anything took her by storm and she moved closer and closer to him until she could feel his soft breath – then yet closer. She closed her eyes and their lips brushed against each other, lightly, feathery and sweetly until Jaime pressed his mouth onto hers initiating a real kiss. The Maid of Tarth gave in for a moment before she pulled back, meeting his emerald gaze, his eyes half-open but very much awake.

“Jaime, you are bleeding.” was the first thing the managed to say.

“ _But what does it matter, for all men must die, and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Feedback is very much appreciated!


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